Hypothetical
by Aimeesworld
Summary: Sara Sidle woke up in the morning after sleeping with Gil Grissom and realised just how weird and uncomfortable the whole thing was. In response to spoilers I hear about but never it seems get to see way down in the backblocks of the world. NS


_A/N: Cheers for reading, please review. _

_Disclaimer: Do not own. If I did, Grissom and Sara would never go anywhere together except for crime scenes and Nick and Sara would spend a lot of time in bed._**  
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**Hypothetical**

To say that Nick Stokes was surprised when Sara Sidle turned up on his doorstep the morning after the night it happened would have been a complete understatement.

"It was weird." She sits down on his sofa, shoulders slumping forward and head bent. "God, that sounds so facile."

Nick snorts. "So he didn't quite live up to the in-depth fantasies you've built up over the years?"

She smiles, a dreamy look in her eyes. "Oh no, the sex was great. Fantastic. He did that thing with his hands where—"

"I _don't _ need to know, Sidle." There was only so much talk of Grissom's sex-life Nick thought he could take and the 'thing with his hands' just about covered it. "Why was it weird?"

Sara sighs. "It was awkward this morning. I wake up, see him there and roll out of bed in horror."

He snickers.

"Shut up, prick. It's not funny."

"Pardon me, Miss Sidle, but it's hilarious. So you actually fell out of bed?"

"Yes, and it hurt and I'm going to have bruises and if you don't stop laughing, Nicholas Ernest Stokes, I'm going to give you some bruises of your own."

"Using my middle name against me? That's cruel, Sara Snowdrop Sidle."

"You know full well I don't _have_ a middle name and if I did it would be Laura." She bangs her head against the coffee table in what Nick can only presume is despair. "Oh God, why did I come here? Look at how fast this conversation is degenerating."

"Okay, I'll be serious now." He pulls his but-I'm-an-upstanding-gentleman look that always works on his mother and elder sisters.

"Really?" She's suspicious.

"Yes. When it gets to head-banging stage, I know it's gotta be important."

"That's it, I'm leaving," she says, not moving.

"Doesn't look like it to me."

"So I'm tired. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night. All the sex. With Grissom. And his penis."

"Augh, my ears!"

She pokes out her tongue. "Gotcha back."

"Okay, I'll listen. As long as you promise never to use that word in context with Grissom."

"What? Penis?"

"You are a cruel, unfeeling wench and I will never forgive you," Nick informs her.

She laughs. "I know."

"So, what did Grissom do?"

"I don't know. I muttered something about needing to be some place, threw my clothes on and drove here."

"I'm touched, I really am."

"What _happened _to you? Now everything you say to me is a sarcastic barb."

"I use sarcasm as a defense mechanism."

"You never used to."

"I'm sure I never used to do a lot of things, Sara."

He's somewhat surprised when she bursts into hysterics. "That sounded so dirty!"

"Maybe I intended it to be."

She laughs. "No, you didn't. You're not exactly subtle, Stokes."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Stop flirting with me? You were gagging for it." She quirks an eyebrow and slides her tongue between her teeth.

"Can't believe you remember that." He frowns, then, "Butter that toast? And that lower-you-eyelashes, flirtacious smile of yours?"

"I think we should take into account that you spent the next ten minutes blatantly staring at my ass." She smiles, triumphant. "Who's the loser then?"

"What were we talking about?"

"You and your I'm-a-big-man-I-must-use-sarcasm-as-a-defence-mechanism thing I believe."

"Sometimes there are things you need to guard yourself from," he mutters.

"Me?" She chuckes. It's the strangest sound, Sara Sidle chuckling, but it's exactly what she does.

"Yeah, Sara. You. You're freakin' intimidating, y'know."

She rolls her eyes. "And here I thought you were such a big man, Nicky."

"Are you drunk?"

"Shockingly enough Nick, I don't start drinking at ten in the morning."

"Well, last night was a big shock for you."

"Bastard." She reaches out the whack him but he dances out of reach, towards the kitchen.

"Want a drink?"

"Yes please. Whatever you're having."

"So we'll be cracking out the early morning vodka then?"

"See what I mean, wiseass?"

He hands her a beer and takes a good swig of his own. "You're too good for Grissom, Sara."

"That's sweet of you, Nick, but I think it's actually the other way around."

Now it's his turn to roll his eyes. "Sara, you're beautiful, freakily intelligent and have this terrible attitude problem. Now, this may not be every man's cup of tea, but I for one would happily add milk and sugar."

She giggles. "That was a truly terrible metaphor." Then, she shuffles over to him on the couch and leans her head on his shoulder. "Thank you though. I think."

"Anything for you, sunshine."

"Really?"

"Well, most things."

"Would you kiss me?"

Her frankness confuses him. "I'm not interesting in being your rebound, Sara."

"Hypothetically."

"Hypothetically? Yes."

"Would you let me kiss you? Hypothetically of course?"

His lips are drying up. He keeps licking them in what he hopes is not a pervy way. "Probably."

"Okay, just wondering." She moves away, back to the edge of the couch and takes another swig of beer.

"Would you let me kiss you? Hypothetically?" he asks. He has to ask because otherwise he's going to do something incredibly stupid like actually kiss her.

She looks over at him. "Depends."

"On what?"

"Is this still hypothetical?"

And he is doing this incredibly stupid lame thing and kissing Sara. And she is kissing him back and bitting his bottom lip softly and running her hands down his back. He's touching her face, Sara Sidle's beautiful cheeks and nose, and one hand ghosts her breast.

They break apart, breathing heavily. "If I did kiss you, would it be rebound? Hypothetically, obviously," Nick asks.

"No," Sara breathes. "It would be working out what I've been missing out on these past six year, you know—"

"Hypothetically," Nick says.

"How did you guess?"

"Well, we just connect, don't we?" he says, rolling his eyes.

"Why do you keep rolling your eyes?" she asks.

"It's a disease we both have, Sidle."

"Cure?"

"I know if I try to sound dirty, you're just going to laugh at me …"

"I wouldn't laugh." She says, offended. "Especially if you were trying really, really hard."

"Screw you."

She sticks her tongue out, the cheekiest smile imaginable on her lips and in her eyes. He thinks that he will always remember her this way, come what may.

"One condition."

"What?"

"When I fall out of bed in shock you stop me running away again."

"Deal."


End file.
